


Legacy

by mockingjayne



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: Mike actually does get traded to Chicago and gets an unexpected visitor.





	

She’s pacing back and forth, muttering incoherently, as if giving herself a pep talk for what she’s about to do next. Her hair is loose and wild curls bounce with every pivot of her foot, back and forth, back and forth.

Mike stands frozen in front of the closed door, shock and concern written all over his face. He’d called. More times than he’d like to admit after the trade went through, after that night. Her voicemail and him were well acquainted, greeting him every single time with her friendly voice alerting him to another ignored call. The slew of texts over the last month or so hadn’t gone over much better - the string of messages becoming more desperate with each passing day. So to say he was surprised to have found her on the other side of his door tonight would be an understatement.

Answering the hesitant knock, he’d stumbled across her shifting from foot to foot, worrying her bottom lip with a frightened look in her eyes, skittish with a glow of determination. He’d stood gaping at her, not even trying to play it cool, shock taking over.

“Ginny, what are you doing here?” He hadn’t received a response, just a strangled sigh as she’d pushed her way into the room, muttering to herself. And then the pacing had begun.

Shock had quickly turned into concern when she continued to ignore his questions - “Ginny, are you okay?” “What are you talking about, Ginny? - almost as if he wasn’t even there, just providing her a room to do…whatever it was she was doing.

He takes a step forward, and she stops. Her head darting up to him, as if just realizing someone else was in the room with her. She wrings her hands nervously, a stray curl tickling her nose, and she shakes her head to free herself from the annoyance. Opening her mouth to speak, nothing comes out, just dead air.

His eyes silently plead with her, please.

Opening her mouth again, finally giving way to words, coherent, sound words that leave him no less confused.

“I’m pregnant,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders, as if she’d given up on trying to sugarcoat the news.

He blanches, her words traveling over him, slowly and all at once, as if a line drive to the gut, knocking the air from him and leaving him speechless.

The silence seems to speak volumes to her, because she’s back to pacing, her hand pulling at her hair, tangling in her curls, as he stands in contrast, frozen with wandering eyes. They rake over her, as if searching for proof of her words, but find nothing that immediately gives way to explanation, except the one night before he left, now replaying over and over in his mind.

His mouth goes dry with memory, eyes closing to let the past wash over him, the feel of her skin, the soft whimpers against his ear - the details so vivid, having been stored away to be called on whenever he thought of her, which was all too often.

“Mike,” she whimpers, the sound vastly different from the last time, and he opens his eyes to find a terrified Ginny standing before him, her tearful brown eyes begging him to do something.

He runs a hand over his face, exhaustion mixing with nerves, before reaching out, making contact with her for the first time in weeks. Directing her to sit, they find themselves shoulder to shoulder at the foot of his bed.

Her elbows rest on her knees, her face buried in her hands, a veil of curls surrounding her, shrouding her from the outside world and shielding him from her tears.

“When did you find out?” he softly asks.

“This morning,” he hears through her hands. He nods to himself, diving back into silence. He then reaches around her, running his hand up and down her back, soothing small circles, allowing his presence to calm her.

“My career’s over,” she cries, and he can’t help but mentally kick himself. He’d long since been told she was his legacy, now realizing that he’d gone and fucked everything up, and his legacy was literally going to be whatever happened between them right here, right now. She peeks out from her curls, tear tracks lining her cheeks, leaving a soft glowing glisten to her. “What do I do? Did you even want kids?” she softly asks him.

He shakes his head, and he can hear her gasp, and he’s struggling….

“No, no, that’s…that’s not what I meant,” he scrambles to get out, grabbing hold of her arm, wanting to make her understand. “I meant, it’s not up to me. Did you want kids? Because it’s your choice, your career, your body. I can’t tell you what to do. But Gin,” his voice shakes, “I’m here for you, whatever you choose. I’m here.”

She shakes her head in defeat. “I’m just so…tired.”

Standing, he keeps hold of her arm, leading her up and over to her side of the bed, the one she’d claimed weeks ago before he’d extricated himself from their entangled limbs, leaving for an early flight he now realizes he never should’ve gotten on.

She looks small covered in the sheets, her hair fanned out on the pillow. And when he goes to move from her side, she grabs out to him. “Stay, please,” she pleads, her callused fingers digging into his forearm with fear.

Settling into the bed, he’s facing her in the center, a clear defined space between them, the silence screaming with things left unsaid.

“Just sleep, Gin,” he soothingly murmurs. “You’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

xxxxxxx

He sees her stir from his perch at the table, a mess of limbs all but rolling out of bed, sleepily making her way to where he sits. Crumpling into the chair, one knee up for her fingers trace the seam on her pants, a nervous habit he’d witnessed before.

Pushing a cup of coffee towards her, she reaches to bring it to her mouth, pausing just as she’s about to take a sip, hesitation written all over her face.

“It’s decaf,” he mutters at her. “You know, just in case,” he says with with a blush.

“Thanks,” she says, rewarding him with a half smile, the first since she came pushing into his hotel room.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she holds it close, staring into the mug, like she’s searching for answers in the brown gold.

“Did you sleep at all?”

She shakes her head. “I…I just kept thinking about that question…” she starts, still refusing to look at him. “’Did I want kids?’”

Did you? he asks, silently with a raise of his eyebrow, not wanting to push her one way or the other.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it. My whole life has been baseball. There was never time…err or a reason to think about kids.”

He nods, understanding all too well how consuming the game can be, how life events pass you by and you only realize what you missed out on after it’s too late.

“Did I want kids? I kept thinking about what everyone would say, how people would react, if I would ever play again,” she’s rambling now, and he’s squinting at her, trying to keep up. “But that’s not what I should’ve been asking. Because I couldn’t picture it, I couldn’t see it. Some far off future with kids that I’d never thought of before.” She lets out of a breath, a heavy sigh of sorts, but with it came a clarity he could see wash over her. 

“I realized I already knew the answer the minute I boarded that plane,” and then she’s crying again, and he moves to vacate his seat to comfort her. His kneels, his knees screaming out in pain, and she swivels to face him, so he’s hovering between her legs, both hands resting on each of her knees.

“Ginny,” he tries to get her attention.

She leans her head back, as if willing the tears back into her eyes. “The reason I couldn’t picture it is because I wasn’t asking the right question. Did I want kids? I didn’t know. But when I asked myself ‘Did I want this baby?’ I could see it. A baby with my curls, your eyes, and a stubborn streak that never quit. I could see it.”

She’s staring down at him, and now it’s his turn for his eyes to water, the uncertainty of actually getting the family he’d wanted since he was kid lingering in the air. “What are you saying, Gin?”

“I want it. I want our baby.”

And just like that, his legacy was written, Ginny and a little Ginny.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So here's the deal, I was terrified out of mind to actually write a fic for them, so I started writing little drabbles for prompts, and this is the result of one of those prompts. Not sure if I'm going to continue with more chapters or not, just wanted to put it out there. Let me know what you think!


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